Stark Surrender (10 page)

Chapter Ten

“Kiri,” said a soft voice.

Kiri began the slow process of climbing up through the layers of sleep in her mind, which was as foggy as a New Seattle night. Although it certainly smelled better where she was, clean and fresh, with no mildew or pollution. She was warm, too, wrapped in a blanket of softest cashmere.

“Kiri. Wake up, sweetie.”

She dragged her eyes open to a room lit softly with glowlamps floating above the elegant furniture—the smaller sitting room in Logan’s penthouse, also used as a holovid viewing room.

Taara was leaning over her.

“What is it?” Kiri asked, her voice rough with sleep.

“It’s evening,” her friend said. “You missed dinner, so we brought you a tray. Zaë and I.”

Kiri rubbed her hands over her face and then sat up, scooting herself and her blanket to one end of the divan. “Hi, Zaë,” she said and then yawned again. “Sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep so early.” In fact, all she seemed to do when she wasn’t active, was sleep.

Zaë smiled a little shyly as she followed Taara around the divan, a large hovertray floating between them. One covered dish was emitting savory smells, and there was also a Serpentian fireglass decanter and three glasses.

Taara nudged the tray over to Kiri.

“Thank you,” Kiri said, touched by their thoughtfulness.

“It was Natan’s idea,” the blonde said with a smile. “He likes you.”

Kiri liked Logan’s houseman too. He’d taught her to make chocolate crispies. “He must be worried sick about Logan.”

“His hair is pretty wild,” Zaë said, waggling her fingers at her throat in imitation of Pangaean hair, which revealed emotions. “And he kept apologizing for the dinner, which the rest of us thought was divine.”

“Eat,” Taara urged Kiri. “We’ll have a drink to keep you company.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kiri said, but she pulled the cover off the tray and surveyed the contents, her stomach growled loudly.

“Well, since we wore you out shopping,” Taara said, “It’s the least we can do.”

Kiri gave her a look, over her first bite of savory fish with a delicate sauce. They had done a marathon shopping spree that day. Joran had instructed them to stay in the exclusive shopping district and not to worry about following a budget, so they’d visited only the best stores, escorted by Creed and Kai, who seemed to get along well. Of course neither man was much for chatting, so perhaps that was why they liked each other.

Kai had made his own purchases, while Taara took charge of Kiri and Zaë, and since she was the fashion expert, they listened. All of them now possessed several new ensembles suitable for the damp chill of New Seattle in autumn.

Kiri wore one of her new outfits, a cinnamon bodysuit of fine, soft wool, with a coffee bean cashmere wrap and matching flats.

Zaë wore a new blue ensemble, and Taara wore a patterned green top and cream tights.

Taara winked at Zaë. “Baristas have no stamina when it comes to fashion.”

“I’ll admit you can out-shop anyone I know,” Kiri said, chewing blissfully. “Oh, I’ve missed Natan’s cooking.”

She ate a few more bites, then eyed the amber liquid in her glass. “I see you broke out Logan’s finest moonbrandy too.”

Taara toasted her and Zaë before sipping. “The least he can do, to repay us for dropping everything to come and search for him.”

Taara’s words slapped Kiri in the face with the cold reality that had kept their shopping trip sober as well. Logan wasn’t here. They were gathered in his penthouse, surrounded by luxury he’d earned, but he wasn’t here. He was out there somewhere in the rain-swept darkness, hurt or even dead.

Her stomach knotted around the food she’d eaten.

She picked up her glass to sip, but wrinkled her nose. The fine liquor didn’t smell good, for some reason. She leaned to set it back on the drinks tray and picked up her water goblet instead.

Zaë spoke, her voice tentative. “Kiri, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but it’s clear you still have feelings for Logan. So why aren’t you with him? As a couple, I mean?”

“Because he had sex with another woman,” Taara burst out indignantly.

Zaë looked puzzled. “I thought you were apart then.”

“So did Logan.” Kiri stared into her water glass. “He was ... furious with me for apparently leaving him for Tal Darkrunner. Granted, Tal goaded him to believe it, out of spite.”

Zaë looked appalled for her. “How awful. Um … Joran had sex with two other woman in the camp while I was living in his tont.”

Kiri and Taara both gaped at her.

“Why didn’t you laser him?” Taara demanded.

“Because,” Zaë said, lifting her chin and looking suddenly every bit the lady she was, “we weren’t together yet. He had rescued me, but ... he was attempting to deny he had feelings for me. He admitted them, finally. And I know he’ll never again—” She broke off, looking like a deerbitt in a searchlight.

“You know Joran will never touch another woman,” Kiri finished for her. “You’re right, Zaë. It’s obvious the man is crazy about you, just like Creed is about Taara.”

She took another drink of ice water. “But unlike Logan. Oh, he wants me. But more as a—an acquisition, like one of his factories, or a new parcel of land. And I won’t live like that.”

The other two women nodded sadly but emphatically.

“I watched him arrange to drop marriageable women—you two—into his brothers’ arms,” she went on. “But he promised no such fidelity to me. And I realized that if I stayed with him on his terms, I’d gradually become like the older courtesans I saw here in the city, fading into shadows of themselves, while their protectors moved on to younger women, and left them with a few jewels and clothing, but not much else. No family and no real home.”

She clutched her glass so tightly it shook. “I want a family of my own. But I have Kai back now and that’s enough.”

“And you have us,” Taara said, moving to her side in a rush of perfumed warmth. “You’ll always have me, and Creed.”

“And me and Joran too,” Zaë added, plumping down on Kiri’s other side. “And perhaps when we find Logan, he’ll be so grateful to see you, he’ll see how much he needs you, and beg you to marry him.”

Kiri coughed on her sip of water. “Right,” she gasped when she could talk. “That’s gonna happen.”

Taara giggled. “Well, it’s certainly a starry image.”

Suddenly Kiri and Zaë were laughing with her.

“He’ll do so on bended knee,” Zaë added, waving her glass and splashing brandy on the carpet. “Oops.”

Taara mimicked the deep tones of the Stark men. “Kiri, I must have you. I cannot rule my vast kingdom of space acquisitions without you at my side.’”

“Marry me, or my heart will break, and I will sit in one of my many offices and count my credit for the rest of my life,” Zaë added in a gruff voice. “Yet it will bring me no satisfaction.”

The two of them fell back, giggling helplessly. Kiri smiled at them. Maybe she should get a little inebriated too. But the brandy didn’t appeal, and neither did searching out another kind of libation.

“Sounds like the party’s in here,” drawled a deep voice behind them.

“Joran,” Zaë cried. She leapt up but nearly fell when her feet tangled in the cashmere throw. She wavered, blue eyes widening, until her husband vaulted over the back of the divan and grabbed her.

Holding her safe against his tall body, he peered into her face. “Just how much have you had to drink, bunny?”

“A lot, from the sounds of it,” Creed said dryly, coming around the other end of the divan.

“Yup,” Taara said happily. “Logan’s best, too. Join us.”

He bent to kiss her, and grimaced. “Or I can just run on your fumes.”

Pasting a smile on her face, Kiri pushed the holotray aside and rose. “Well, I’m off to bed. See you all in the morning.”

She loved Taara, and she was coming to like Zaë very much, but she couldn’t bear to stay and witness their happiness just now.

Chapter Eleven

Tal Darkrunner was back.

Back in New Seattle, back in the nerve center of his underworld kingdom. Like a king, he had his new queen at his side, and his attendants gathered round him.

Scala Raj smiled to herself as she watched her lover pace back and forth across his huge, luxe office. Tal’s taste was a bit gaudy, tending heavily toward black and scarlet, gilt and velvet, but since everything was of the finest fabrication, including his also huge desk of real wood, it worked for her.

He hadn’t stinted on the tech either. She was itching to get her fingers on some of the powerful holovid equipment, and she would, because Tal had assured her that everything he had was now hers as well.

But at the moment, she was perched on the corner of the desk, enjoying being dressed in the finest ganger consort style, which meant black lace, leather and cashmere so fine it was like a kiss, all cut to cup her breasts and ass, and enhance her long legs. Also, the stylists had managed sexy and warm. New Seattle was where Tal reigned, thus it was her home now, but it was quarking cold and damp. Being a Serpentian, Scala craved warmth; being herself, she craved sexy. Now she had both.

And at least inside Tal’s building she couldn’t smell the stench of the dirty bay, wet pavement, and ever-present mildew that hung in the streets with the fog.

In here, she felt like a queen as she watched her king, one of her favorite things to do. Clad in black leather from head to toe, with rings on every finger and his ebony hair in a myriad of long braids, Tal was a beautiful man, a force to be reckoned with, his lean form and taut muscles radiating coiled energy. Just now, that energy was dark and angry, but it wasn’t directed at her, or the others in the room, so she didn’t mind.

“What’s first?” asked Darry, a compact man with a deceptively boyish face and flyaway blond hair. He wore leathers like Tal, but his were punctuated with a royal blue shirt that brightened his eyes, and his jacket was short. “Financials, word on the street, or the Stark thing?”

“I have the financials up.” Trix turned from her holovid screens, tossing her head to get one of her strawberry blonde braids out of her gamine face. She wore a gold satin halter with low-cut leather pants. But as lickable as the little blonde’s look was, all that bare skin made Scala shiver. Evidently being a native meant one was impervious to the chilly damp that crept even into the corners of heated rooms like this one.

“Street report first,” Tal said. “Then financials. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten why we flew halfway across the galaxy. Fucking LodeStar Security sent me on a wild asteroid chase. I’ll be having words with Mr. Stark’s security skrog about that,” he said, turning to stride back across the room. “Berenson played me just like his boss would’ve.”

Scala loved watching her lover’s dangerous prowl, but she could still focus on details.

“Berenson’s not that bad, really,” she said. “The IBI bitch who was at my hearing kept messing with my restraints, choking me. Berenson made her take them off—she didn’t want to, but she was scared of him.”

“No wonder, he’s as big as Dalg,” Darry said. “And human, which means he’s faster.”

The huge Mau pilot raised one corner of his thick, purplish lips and growled, but didn’t bother to answer, gaze riveted on his boss.

Tal glared at her. “You’ll give me her name, too.”

“Baby,” she said, “The Intergalactic Bureau of Investigation is a little big even for you to take on. Forget her—I have.”

“Then Berenson will tell me.”

His single-mindedness was endearing, but there were closer targets for his wrath, and she wouldn’t mind seeing one of them in particular taken down a bit.

“Why don’t you go straight to Stark himself?” she suggested. “He’s supposed to be here in your city somewhere.”

Or so her handler at LodeStar Security had told her when she linked Scala to announce that she’d been pardoned of her crime against LodeStar. Of course Tal hadn’t been ready to forgive her quite so easily, when she’d had to admit that far from hiring on randomly as a crew member on his cruiser, the Zharrdul, she’d been a spy, sent to keep an eye on him.

Hadn’t stopped her from falling in love and lust with him.

Tal’s beautiful eyes narrowed, pale as green crystal against his olive skin, ebony hair and the tattoos that inked his lean face.

“No, something twisty is going on,” he said, “because no one’s actually seen Stark at any of his usual haunts, and he hasn’t been on the news, offering holoflashes to his sycophants as usual. Why not? If he’s here, why is he hiding?”

Scala shrugged. “Maybe he’s been injured some way. If he was kidnapped, as you suspected, maybe they roughed him up.”

That wouldn’t hurt her feelings, not a bit. She’d never forget the implacable contempt in his gaze as he watched the IBI haul her off to be sentenced, haughty as a king watching a lowly servant dragged away to be thrown to the vipers … or whatever.

“Maybe his captors had a body part delivered to make sure the ransom was paid,” Darry added with relish. “Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”

Tal shook his head again, pausing by Scala to stroke her thigh through the soft leather of her pants as he considered. This close, she could draw in his musky, spicy scent, and enjoy details like his thick ebony lashes and the fine curve of his thin lips.

“You sense something,” she murmured.

His gaze met hers and warmed. He leaned in, his nose brushing her temple. “I do, snake eyes. I just don’t know what ... yet.”

“You will. You always figure things out, eventually.”

“I do,” he said, and kissed her, nipping at her full lower lip as he pulled away. “I’m the cleverest bastard in this city. I figured you out, didn’t I?”

“Ha. You’re welcome to keep trying.”

He chuckled, a whisper of sound. “Until I’m doddering in my boots, love.”

She narrowly missed giving a sappy sigh, trailing her short nails over his inked cheek instead. Goddess, when he said things like that, she wanted to fuck him right here. Not that any of present company would mind.

“The twins are here,” Trix said announced.

Okay, there went that idea. Darry and Trix would happily join in a four-way, and Dalg would ignore them all. But Scala drew the line at fucking in front of strangers.

Tal turned and leaned against the desk beside Scala, his hand still on her leg. Pleasure thrilled through her. He was greeting the new arrivals with her at his side, letting them know her position.

A man and woman walked into Tal’s office. With skin nearly as dark as their braids, and dressed in leather patterned with beads and what looked hella like small bones, the two were attractive, tough and heavily armed. Weariness was in every movement, though.

They nodded respectfully to Tal, and waited, eyeing Scala.

“Love, meet Ajah and Amahl. Two of my best,” Tal told her. He stroked her thigh again. “This is Scala,” he told them simply.

That seemed to be it, but the two nodded again in a way that said Tal’s message was clear.

“Glad you’re back, boss,” Ajah, the female, said in a musical voice. “Things have been tough. The dockworkers are rioting again, so the streets are rezzed.”

“Lars has gone off grid,” Amahl said. “He got into one of those fight contests, and lost. Suspect he’s holed up with a couple of girls and some illegals.”

“Bette went looking for him,” Ajah added. “She’s still starry over him. Now she’s gone too.”

“Not like her to disappear without letting us know where she is, though,” Trix said, frowning as she fingered her braids.

“We’ll find her,” Tal said. “Lars too—if only so I can kick his ass. What else have you got for me?”

“Nothing good,” Ajah said. “That new gang we reported on while you were gone—call themselves the GloJacs? They’re recruiting heavily.”

“And they’re moving in on our territory,” Amahl added.

Tal stiffened against Scala. She frowned. “Who are they?”

“They wear acid chartreuse jackets on their filthy selves. Their leader calls himself Mor-
da
-city.” Ajah enunciated the name like something bitter. “He’s pure evil.”

“Explain.” Tal’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Amahl shook his head slowly as he looked up at Tal. “We may strong-arm a bit. But anyone who won’t knuckle under completely to him? Their kiosks are burnt, merchandise destroyed—fouled so no one can use it. Folks beaten, raped.”

“And the worst,” Ajah added, her voice raw, “his gang’s signature—acid. They throw it in the faces of their victims, then leave them there to suffer, maybe die ... they don’t even care.”

If possible, the air around Tal grew colder. Scala shivered, half-expecting to see frost forming. “How do we know it’s them?”

“Oh, they make sure everybody knows.” Amahl worked his com and a holovid appeared in mid-air. A crumpled body lay in the street, dried blood splattered over clothing. And on the dirty wall, a crude fluorescent galactic ‘M’ had been sprayed with acidgel paint.

Scala had seen a lot of bad things, but this turned even her stomach.

“That was just a kid,” she said. “Promise me we’ll get rid of this slithering viper.”

“Oh, we will,” Tal replied, his leg hard as cerametal under her hand. “Because if I’m not mistaken, all this shit is a direct challenge to me.”

“To you?”

“Yeah, think about it. None of us have ever heard of them, yet they move in and set up their shakedown while I’m gone? That’s no coincidence. You got any holovid of this Mordacity?”

Both twins shook their heads. “No, sorry. He’s just a shadow so far.”

Tal grunted. “When he comes out, we’ll get him. Cockroaches should stay in the dark.”

They were respectfully silent.

“Hao Lin has a report on Flash you need to hear next, boss,” Trix said.

“I’ll get to that,” Tal said, still scowling at nothing.

“It’s all tied together,” she insisted. “Really.”

Amahl and Ajah looked like they were ready to dive for cover as Tal aimed an icy look at Trix, Scala noted. But the small blonde merely indicated one of her holovid displays. It showed the interior of Flash, Tal’s club, one of the hottest venues in the city.

But instead of just dancers gyrating under a blazing light show, and sexy employees zipping overhead on hoverplats, this vid showed a huge brawl on the dance floor ... and in the center were several chartreuse glo-jacketed toughs.

“Oh, shit,” Darry breathed.

“All right, twins,” Tal said. “Go get some rest. That’s an order.”

The two looked grateful. They pushed off the divan and headed for the door.

“And send Hao in,” Tal ordered.

A slim man hurried into the room. His ebony hair was gelled up in a scarlet tipped curlicue, and his black suit fit him like a second skin except for the elaborately flared shoulders. His round, ḗpale lavender face was impassive, but his dark gaze shot to Tal, and there it stayed.

“Talk,” Tal said.

“Sir. Business has been very good. Profits are up, customers rate their experience as excellent, and we have many returnees. Vanessé performed last week to sellout crowds. On the down side, ah … three nights ago, seven GloJacs suddenly appeared on the dance floor. They started a huge brawl. We were able to stop the fighting with an application of gluepaint, but not before damage was done. I’ve had to order twenty new tables, ninety stools, and six large glowlamps.”

“How did they get in? Thought I schooled the door crews to watch for gang sign, including matching quarking jackets!” Tal’s voice didn’t rise, but it intensified until he was firing words like lasers at the man.

His club manager’s hair and shoulder-pads quivered, probably because he was shaking in his shoes, but Scala had to give the guy cred—he stood his ground.

“They, uh, we believe they had the jackets hidden on their persons, sir, and donned them once they were inside.”

“That makes sense,” Scala said. She smiled at Hao Lyn over Tal’s shoulder. “Maybe have your doormen pay closer attention to the body scanners from now on, hmm?”

The man blinked as if he were astonished to be addressed by anyone other than Tal. Or maybe he thought she was just Tal’s latest sex toy.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and the man nodded immediately. “Uh ... yes, Ms. Thank you.”

Tal’s hand tightened on her thigh. “She’s right,” he said. “You can go, Lyn.”

“Thank you, sir.” The man bowed and glided from the room.

“You didn’t thank him for saving your club from total ruin?” Scala asked, amused.

“I pay him a fuckload of credit, so I don’t have to thank him.”

“Gotcha. What’s gluepaint, anyway?”

“It reacts with skin and hair,” Darry said. “Sticky as hell, plus it burns and itches. Wonderful little invention of the cops. Kind of gives brawlers something else to think about besides their aggression.”

“Sounds like you have experience with it.”

He grinned at her. “I may have. In the distant past.”

“It breaks down under water,” Trix added, “So you can shower it off. Or dive in the nearest body of water ... but we don’t recommend doing that around here.”